Every Dog Has His Day
by fluttermoth
Summary: This is an AU fic done for Heiwako and CSphire of a little threesome between Arnbjorn, Cicero and Lumen. (Rated M for sexual content.)


Warning: M/M/F threesome, oral, some language, etc.

* * *

It's the last day of the year. Old Life Festival, for those who celebrate it. A day where everyone in Tamriel is wonderfully, blissfully drunk. And Arnbjorn plans to drink himself into Oblivion if he can. He never used to mind this holiday. He never actually celebrated it. But ever since the passing of his wife, this day has been looming over him, and he'll be glad when it's over. He feels too much whenever he thinks of his wife. He misses her, yes, but he is still angry with her for betraying the Dark Brotherhood. He still loves her, yet he resents her for pushing him away in the months prior to her untimely passing. Up until those last few months, there had never been any secrets between them, and he's still bitter that she died before he could ever tell her that he'd been unfaithful.

With a sigh, he brings the tankard to his lips. Hoping the drink will bring the war between love and anger waging inside him to a temporary truce. The already sweet mead is made even sweeter by the shot of Colovian brandy he'd dropped inside his tankard. The strong mix of alcohol warms him from the inside out and slows his unpleasant thoughts.

"Arnbjorn."

He looks up to see Lumen staring at him. The Listener is another complication in his life. She did invite him to Dawnstar, and they both apologized for how poorly they treated each other on that ill-fated night at the Windpeak Inn. They've been trying to work past it, but the memory of that night hangs over Arnbjorn. He's not angry at Lumen, nor is he angry at Cicero. Arnbjorn may be quick to anger, but he's also quick to cool down, and a true Nord didn't hold a grudge like some soft-bodied Imperial. If Arnbjorn is angry with anyone, he's angry with himself for not having more self-control.

"What is it?" he asks, then lifts his tankard of mead. "If you need something repaired, it'll have to wait. I'm afraid I've taken the night off."

Lumen's mouth twists into a strange, soft smile. The elf seems oddly devoid of her usual hard edges tonight, and the half-drunk bottle of wine in her hand is probably the reason why. "Actually, I was hoping we could talk."

"I'm all ears, tidbit."

"Not here," she says quietly, glancing around at the various members of their little family who have gathered in the common area to celebrate. "Follow me."

With his tankard in hand, Arnbjorn follows Lumen through the dark, twisting corridors of Dawnstar Sanctuary. She leads him to her bedroom, which is lit by only a few candles placed on her bedside tables and dresser. The platform where her bed sits in the only well-lit part of the room, the rest of it cast in shadow due to a lack of light.

"Is there a candle shortage?" he asks, blinking his eyes as they adjust to the dim light.

"No. I just don't require much light," she answers simply. "Shut the door, will you?"

Arnbjorn does as she asks, nudging the door closed with his heel before stepping deeper into the room. "What did you want to talk about?"

Lumen sets her bottle of wine down on the small, stone table at the foot of her bed. She fidgets nervously with her dress before saying, "I'm not really good with this sort of thing, so I guess I'll just be blunt. I'm worried about you and I want to know how you're doing."

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe that for a moment, Arnbjorn. You've been moping around the Sanctuary all week."

"Okay, so I'm not fine," he snaps, then takes another gulp of his mead. "But I don't want to talk about it, either."

Lumen steps closer to him, carefully taking the tankard from his hand and setting it aside. "Are you drunk?"

"Getting a little closer with each drink," Arnbjorn says gruffly. "Are you done?"

"No," Lumen snaps. "If you want to talk about Astrid, then-"

"I don't want to talk about her, or what she did, I just- I just wish I could forget so I could move on."

Lumen heaves a sigh. "Drinking yourself into a stupor isn't the right way to go about something like this."

"You don't understand." Arnbjorn runs his hand through his long, white hair. An unreasonable anger burning his chest with each passing moment, no doubt amplified by the copious amounts of alcohol he'd been ingesting all evening.

"I'm trying to," Lumen says, sounding a bit frustrated. "It's been _months _since she died, and I know I'm not the only person in this Sanctuary who's worried about you. You need to talk about it."

"Oh, I _need _to, do I?" he snaps, looming over her and taking one step forward with each step she takes back. "Since when did you become the authority on what I need?"

"Mother put me in charge." Lumen lifts her chin, weaving a bit and caught in her own drunken haze. "It's my job to make sure everyone is taken care of, and I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

She leans back against her dresser for support, and Arnbjorn places a hand on either side of her, leaning forward until their noses are almost touching. "I don't want to talk," he says, his voice low.

Normally, Arnbjorn would be respectful to the Listener, despite all her numerous shortcomings and annoying habits, but he's drunk and it's late. As a werewolf, he can feel the passing of the moons overhead more keenly than any creature in this Sanctuary, and on this particular night the lunar glow seems to call to his lupine nature, urging him to challenge the Listener, rather than back down.

The elf isn't helping matters either. Not when the neckline of her dress is cut lower than most Nordic styles, making it almost impossible for Arnbjorn to ignore the delicate rise-and-fall of her breasts. Or the way her breath hitches when he takes a step closer, bumping his thigh against hers. Or the unmistakable scent of female arousal, which is something he'd miss entirely if his senses weren't supernaturally heightened. That stuns him, and before his inebriated mind can work out exactly how he should proceed, her fingers are curling in his tunic and pulling him lower.

Then her lips are on his, and she's pushing him backwards toward her bed. Arnbjorn sits down when his legs hit the edge, guiding Lumen to straddle his lap as he claims her mouth. She wraps her legs around his hips and he holds her to him, not caring how desperate he seems for her affection. _Anyone would do_, he tells himself. But the elf tastes just like he remembers; of wine and meadowsweet, and the familiarity of her touch has his cock rising... As well as his doubts. What if she's just using him again? What if this is nothing more than some game?

Arnbjorn slides a rough, forge-hewn hand along her thigh and up under her skirt, unabashedly dipping his fingers beneath the hem of her smalls to make damn sure that she's not lying. To assure himself that she _does_ want him. His worries are somewhat assuaged when he finds her utterly soaked, and the soft noise that escapes her when his fingers delve inside her slick folds further chases his doubts away. He grabs her hips, urging her to grind against him, knowing she can easily feel how hard he is with nothing more than her wet smalls and his cloth trousers in the way.

A soft, maniacal giggling yanks Arnbjorn back to reality, and he reluctantly pulls his lips away from Lumen to see Cicero striding out of the darkness. "What in the Void are you-" Arnbjorn cuts himself off, realising that the Listener is Cicero's territory, and not his.

"I should've known you'd be here," Lumen says, not at all alarmed that the Keeper was watching.

"Yes!" Cicero giggles. "You should have! You know how dear, sweet Cicero likes to watch his lovely Listener undress," he says, his gaze sliding to Arnbjorn. "Imagine his surprise when he saw that you brought a friend! May Cicero join you? Oh, please say yes!"

"Well, I don't mind." Lumen nuzzles Arnbjorn's bristly cheek, her breath tickling his ear when she says, "That mouth of his can do more than make noise, you know."

"I…" Arnbjorn hesitates. He's never had any inclination towards men, but he's never been against the idea either. The opportunity just never arose until now.

"Don't worry, dearest brother," the jester says, losing clothes with each step. First the gloves, the jacket, the boots and then the pants. Leaving him in only his ridiculous hat and smalls. "You need not concern yourself with Cicero trying any Dibella Aversa on you tonight, or any other night. Unless you want him to, of course."

"You won't try any _what_?" Arnbjorn asks, confused.

Lumen smirks at Arnbjorn. "It's a fancy, Imperial term for anal sex."

"Why not just call it what it is, niblet?" he asks the jester, mildly amused at the pinched look on his face.

"Cicero didn't want to be rude about it," Cicero says, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. "So? May Cicero join the fun?"

"All right, but- lose the hat," Arnbjorn says.

"Done." Cicero laughs, flinging his hat off to some far corner of the Listener's bedroom. He crawls onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Arnbjorn and pressing his chest against his back. The Keeper must have shed his smallclothes before climbing on the bed, because Arnbjorn can feel the Imperial's unhindered erection pressing firmly against his backside.

"Cicero thinks the Listener is wearing too many clothes," he purrs in Arnbjorn's ear, his voice surprisingly low and warm. "Don't you agree, brother?"

A grunt of agreement is all Arnbjorn can manage at the moment. Words fail him when Cicero begins to nibble the curve of his ear, while Lumen sucks on the lobe of the other. Her teeth grazing along the tender flesh of his earlobe as she pulls away, grabbing the hem of his tunic and gently tugging it upwards as she stands from his lap. With Cicero's help, the two quickly strip Arnbjorn of his shirt, leaving him in just his trousers.

"Lie back," Lumen says, and Cicero moves with Arnbjorn, guiding him to lie on the bed while the elf sheds her clothing.

Arnbjorn watches her undress, enjoying how very different this experience is compared to their first time together, and how different she is from Astrid. Where his wife was fair, the elf is dark. Where Astrid was lithe and muscular, Lumen is soft and curvy. The addition of Cicero is certainly different from any sexual experience Arnbjorn has ever had. He never in a million years thought he'd be bedding the insane Keeper, nor did he expect to respond to the man's touch so eagerly.

Of course, he never thought he'd be lying in the Listener's bed; Lumen on his right side and Cicero on his left. Both taking turns exchanging slow, sloppy kisses with him. Their hands exploring his body while he explores theirs, enjoying the familiar feel of feminine curves on one side, and the new sensation of hard, masculine muscle on the other.

Cicero moves a little lower, trailing soft kisses along his jawline, down his throat and across his collarbone. Lumen pulls away just enough to look Arnbjorn in the eyes and asks, "Is this okay?"

_Are you okay _is what she means to ask. Arnbjorn knows the night of their violent affair haunts her as much as it haunts him. "Yes, but…" he hesitates, not quite knowing how to voice his concerns, and feeling a little embarrassed about needing to do so.

"We'll stop if you want us to," Lumen tells him, and at those words Cicero pauses his descent down Arnbjorn's torso. "I promise, this isn't like our last time."

"If anything, it's an apology," Cicero adds.

Arnbjorn laughs at that. "I've never had anyone apologize to me quite like this," he says, his mouth twisting into a wry grin. "I'm fine, and I certainly don't want you to stop."

"Obviously," Cicero breathes, his fingers tracing along the bulge of Arnbjorn's cock, which is hard and pressing against his trousers. He almost laughs again, but the noise comes out as nothing more than a strangled groan when the Imperial begins to stroke him through the fabric.

With consent granted, Lumen resumes her attentions; kissing and nipping her way down Arnbjorn's body. Her fingers tracing along the swells of his muscles and the smooth valleys in between, and only stopping when she reaches the hem of his pants. The Listener and the Keeper share a look before easing Arnbjorn out of his trousers and smalls, finally freeing his cock. Which is a relief, really. His prick is hard and aching, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Lumen pats him on his thigh, urging him to spread his legs so she and Cicero can settle between them. In his maneuvering, Arnbjorn adjusts the pillows on the bed so he can comfortably watch what his two scheming siblings are going to do. The elf's mouth descends on his cock first, taking him in to the hilt before pulling back with a long, languid suck.

"You weren't kidding when you said he had an impressive one," Cicero says, and once Lumen releases her hold on Arnbjorn, Cicero slides his hand down the length of his shaft, tugging back up and gently squeezing the head of his cock before sliding his hand back down again.

"Y-you two were- um-" he shivers with pleasure, momentarily by distracted by Cicero rubbing his thumb across the head of his cock, massaging the slit.

"We were what, now?" Lumen asks, grinning wickedly.

Arnbjorn grunts, finally managing to ask, "Were you two discussing my cock?"

Cicero takes Arnbjorn's cock in his mouth, humming his acknowledgement and drawing a gasp from the Nord. Lumen merely shrugs and says, "Such an impressive phallus is worthy of discussion, don't you think?"

Arnbjorn isn't certain how to respond to that, and he has no desire to talk anymore. Not when Cicero releases his hold on his cock, only so he can share with Lumen. The Listener's and the Keeper's lips touch as they both descend on his cock, and Arnbjorn watches, almost mesmerized by both the sight and the sensation of two paramours going down on him at once. They have a perfect rhythm, both sucking and moving from his head to his shaft, and then back again. It's becoming more and more obvious the pair have done this before, on whom, Arnbjorn doesn't know. And when they take turns in taking his length fully in their mouths, he decides he really doesn't care either.

It is a fascinating and utterly intoxicating experience; the delicate scrape of Cicero's blunt fingernails across his inner thigh, his warm mouth suckling the head of his cock, and the feather-light swipes of Lumen's tongue along his shaft. He can already feel the slow beginnings of his release thanks to their insistent and surprisingly talented mouths.

Lumen's drapes her arm across Cicero's shoulders, drawing a silent, content sigh from the man. A sigh Arnbjorn wouldn't have known existed if it hadn't been for a soft puff of breath against the head of his prick, and he suddenly feels like an interloper on whatever mad-love exists between the Listener and the Keeper. Which is ridiculous considering the two are devoting all of their attention to him at the moment. Arnbjorn squeezes his eyes shut, determined to enjoy himself. To get lost in the decadent pleasures the two are heaping upon him, rather than get caught up in cynical thoughts that will cause nothing but pain.

He can feel Lumen's breath against his shaft. Errant wisps of air coming out in short, quick pants that signal her own needs that have gone ignored in favor of his own. Cicero wraps his free arm around her, dragging the pad of his thumb down the edge of her pointed ear. Her soft, wavering moan causes Arnbjorn's groin to tighten, and a slow, sluggish river of heat surges through his shaft. He growls, almost ashamed at how quickly the two are bringing him to completion. But as tight as he is wound, as lonely as he has been, he can hardly blame himself for coming undone.

His body is humming with pleasure, and every muscle drawing painfully taut as the two push him closer to the edge. He moans, and then curses at how helpless he sounds. He curses again, but only because his release hits him sudden and _hard_. Harder than ever before, and he strains to keep his eyes open, drinking in the sight of the white, sticky trickle of his issue pooling at the head of his cock, and then spurting amidst the whirl of their tongues. He throws his head back then, crying out an oath as he grips the blankets of the Listener's bed, desperate for something to hold on to. Desperate for something to keep him tethered to reality because the pleasure is too much. Too much and _too perfect_ after wanting for so long.

In the haze of lust and exquisite bliss he can barely register his two siblings cleaning the mess he made, and he wonders if they plan to take care of the mess they've made of _him_ as well. He needs reassurance. He needs to know if this is a beginning or merely an end, but he's too afraid to ask. The bed dips on either side of him, and Lumen and Cicero nestle against him. The Keeper humming a soft tune and the Listener gently brushing Arnbjorn's hair away from his face.

Uncertain, and admittedly feeling a little guilty, he asks "Do you need me to-"

Lumen's finger against his lips silences him. "Later, perhaps, if you truly wish to," she says, and there is a warmth in her voice he's never heard before. "This is for you, brother."

That quiets him, and as Cicero and Lumen rest their heads on his shoulders, he realizes he hasn't felt this calm, or so alone, in a long, long time.

* * *

Notes: Done for '"The Ships That Will Never Sail" trade between Heiwako, CSphire and I.  
It started out as us whining at each other for ships we'd like to see - I requested Lydia and Diana from Heiwako, Heiwako and CSphire requested Arnbjorn, Cicero and Lumen (I'm still laughing) from me and we requested Farengar and Beth from CSphire.

So, obviously, this is an AU fic because I really don't see Arnbjorn tolerating Cicero's touch (or presence) for very long. But hey, enjoy the smut! :D It's not often I write Cicero and Lumen being sweet and taking care of someone they wronged. So I really enjoyed writing this!


End file.
